


Feeling the Heat

by orphan_account



Series: Of Monsters and Martin [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Burning, M/M, Religious Themes, Ritual Sex, Scarring, Trans Martin Blackwood, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24579403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Martin investigates the Church of the Lightless Flame and ends up becoming part of a ritual.(The Desolation)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Of Monsters and Martin [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776565
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Feeling the Heat

**Author's Note:**

> The word entrance is used for Martin’s anatomy.

It had been a long time since Martin had been in a church. He’d gone only rarely as a child, and the last time he’d set foot in one was when his grandfather died, which wasn’t a memory he particularly wanted to relive. Though he wasn’t particularly in the mood to be fired from his new job in the first week, so he went.

He’d been given a warning that some of the duties he performed at the Magnus Institute might be dangerous, disturbing, or generally undesirable. He figured that would mean dealing with statement givers who weren’t in the best state mentally, or maybe cleaning the occasional toilet. Elias had neglected to provide specifics on what exactly “investigating statements” meant until now.

The man from the church was clearly not well, but Martin wouldn’t have considered him dangerous. He had some nasty looking burns on his hands, and he was in too much pain to hold a pencil, so Martin had had to take his statement via a tape recorder Elias provided. He’d seen the recorders around the Institute, and more often than not they seemed to be on, so he’d assumed they were just some odd antiquated security measure. Martin knew quite well how to operate the things-he had one of his own he used occasionally to record his poetry, though it didn’t work very well. He definitely still preferred written statements, though. Something about having to have an active conversation with a statement giver, or having his voice show up alongside their mad ramblings, it unsettled him.

When Gertrude told him to do some follow-up on the statement, he’d assumed she meant checking who owned the building in question or looking for reports of arson in the area. He didn’t think she meant actually going into the church. Martin didn’t want to go into the church, but Gertrude had glared at him and he’d agreed to do so. He really didn’t want to lose this job.

The church resembled other churches Martin had been to, at least in structure. It was an old-looking building with a tall, pointed roof and colourful glass windows. It was absent of any religious iconography that Martin recognized, which did align with the statement. There were no crosses anywhere on the outside of the building, and rather than depicting saints the stained-glass windows showed rising pillars of flame. The door was unlocked, and Martin opened it, feeling a strange warmth coming from the handle.

Inside, he saw several rows of pews and a raised platform at the front. In the middle of the platform was a lectern, the type a university professor would stand at, and next to the lectern was a tall gold chalice with a wide opening and a large candle sitting in it. Behind the lectern stood a man in a black robe and a bright red scarf that draped off his shoulders and down to his ankles. At the ends of the scarf were intricately embroidered flames.

“Can I help you?” the man at the lectern asked, smiling down at Martin.

“Yes, actually,” Martin said. “I was wondering about… your church. Do you have a pamphlet I can look at or something?”

The man chuckled and shook his head.

“What exactly about the church caught your eye, young man?”

“I’m not sure. Just passing through, I suppose.” He didn’t want to mention the Institute or the statement giver. If what that man had said was correct, he didn’t want to make anyone from the church suspicious of him.

“Why don’t you come by for service tonight?” the man at the lectern offered. “We’re having a sacrament. Usually we don’t like to have new members there for that, but… I’ll put in a good word for you.” He winked at Martin, and Martin laughed awkwardly.

“I’ll think about it,” Martin replied. He gave the man a quick nod before shuffling out of the church.

He’d mentioned the offer to Gertrude, wondering if it was worth a try. Gertrude had seemed fascinated.

“Of course you should go,” she said. “Any chance to learn more about the Church of the Lightless Flame would be greatly appreciated.”

“Won’t it be dangerous?” Martin asked.

“Eh. If you don’t come into work tomorrow I’ll send someone out to look for you. You should be fine, though. They don’t tend to kill.”

“What about the guy who came in this morning? I don’t want to end up like that.”

“Just don’t get on their bad side, then. Do what they say, participate as best as you can. Maybe it’ll be a completely normal service. Probably won’t, but maybe.”

Martin nodded. None of that was reassuring. He wasn’t comfortable going to the church, especially not by himself at night. Still, he had to keep his job.

He arrived at around 8 PM, as per the sign outside. He watched several people in black robes just like the man from before filing through the doors. A few of them cast odd glances in his direction, and he somewhat expected the man from before to pull him aside and offer him one of the robes, but it never happened. He stood off in a corner and watched the churchgoers file into the pews. He noticed there weren’t any children among them-likely because children wouldn’t want to attend a church this late at night, he figured.

The man from earlier stepped through the door, his red scarf standing out against his robe. He caught Martin’s eye, glaring at him.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. “The service is starting soon. Go take your seat.”

Martin nodded, hurrying up into the pews. The only empty space was toward the front, next to the aisle. He felt like he was too close to the lectern, like he was standing out too much.

He nearly jumped out of his seat as the sound of a bell echoed through the room. Three people walked onto the stage-the man with the red scarf, a woman wearing an orange scarf with similar embroidery on the ends, and a man in a bright red robe wearing a yellow scarf, also embroidered with an intricate flame pattern on the ends. It was dark within the Church, and Martin could only barely see them via the moonlight entering through the stained glass windows.

The woman lifted a long, narrow object out from behind the lectern and held it over the chalice. Martin heard a click and a flame burst forth from the object, which may have looked like a lighter but was definitely much longer than any lighter he’d ever seen. The man in the red robe stood at the lectern and gestured out to the crowd in the pews.

“We light this chalice,” the churchgoers around Martin said simultaneously, “to celebrate the Lightless Flame, and the Desolation it brings.”

The man and woman in black robes stood on each side of the lectern, and the man in the red robe tapped the lectern gently. The churchgoers looked up at him eagerly. Martin did the same.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Congregation of the Lightless Flame,” he began. He was grinning in the light of the chalice. “Tonight is a very important night. Tonight is the night of the sacrament!”

Murmurs of excitement erupted amongst the congregation, but the man tapped the lectern again to quiet them down.

“You may have noticed someone special on your way in tonight,” he said, looking around the room. Martin could have sworn the man made direct eye contact with him, staring at him just long enough to make him uncomfortable. “I see all of you have complied with the instructions to leave your children at home. Very good. The sacrament is a wonderful, beautiful ritual to be sure, but children are simply not mature enough to process the acts which are about to take place.”

The congregation nodded in agreement. Martin nodded along with them.

“Now, if you all will join me in singing the Song of the Sacrament while our Altar-Hands prepare the stage.”

The room around Martin erupted in sound once again, this time singing a haunting melody in a language he didn’t recognize. It was slow and droning, in a minor key, and he was sat next to an elderly man who sang in a very low octave that gave the impression of the song buzzing in his ears. He watched as the black-robed people on stage (the Altar-Hands, he presumed) dragged the lectern off to the edge of the stage. The man walked past the lectern off the side of the stage and into a part of the church Martin couldn’t see, returning a few moments later with two red candles. He set them down on the ground in the middle of the stage, and then he and the other Altar-Hand turned towards the crowd. They were looking at him. Martin was certain they were looking at him.

The Altar-Hands stepped off the stage and walked out into the pews, stopping in front of Martin. The woman held out her hand, but Martin shook his head. The singing grew louder, hurting his ears.

“What is this?” he asked meekly.

“Shhh!” the man hissed, pressing a finger to his lips. The woman grabbed him by one arm, and the man took the other, dragging him onto the stage. The singing swelled once more before finally fading away, and the man in the red robe knelt beside him. He touched a hand to Martin’s chest, and it was disturbingly warm. Martin saw his shirt catch fire, and he slapped at the flame, but then he realized he couldn’t feel his skin burning. The flame burned his shirt to ash, but it left his skin entirely untouched.

The Altar-Hands pushed his body into a sitting position, lifting his head to face the congregation. They stared silently at him.

“This is Martin Blackwood,” the man in the red robe said. “Martin has been selected to receive the sacrament of the Lightless Flame. He will feel its burning love, and be blessed with the warmth of its eternal embrace.”

The red-robed man touched a hand to his trousers, and Martin watched as they too burned away. As the last ashes from his trousers fell away, the man touched a finger to his underwear, and they too went up in smoke. Martin heard a few muffled gasps from the crowd. He moved his hands down between his thighs in a futile attempt to cover himself, and was thankful that the Altar-Hands didn’t stop him.

Each Altar-Hand took one of the red candles, bringing it up to the chalice and carefully lighting it. The red-robed man moved to stand behind Martin, and the Altar-Hands knelt on either side of him. The red-robed man grabbed him by the shoulders, just tightly enough to let him know he shouldn’t bother trying to escape. The Altar-Hands tipped the candles to the side, and Martin watched hot wax dripping down the sides. It seemed to move in slow motion, one drop falling from the candle, falling slowly and hitting Martin’s thigh. Martin yelped. It _burned._ Of course it burned, it was hot wax after all, but it was so incredibly painful. The red-robed man held his shoulders tightly as he gasped with pain. He’d just gotten over the initial shock when another drop of wax hit his thigh, sending a fresh jolt of pain through his body.

He counted eleven more drops before the Altar-Hands blew out their candles. They set them aside, and each placed a hand on Martin’s inner thigh, dragging over the dried wax. He felt fingernails digging into his skin as they pulled the wax away, and then dragged their fingers over the horrid burns beneath. The hands pushed his thighs apart as he struggled to get away from the painful touches. Finally, the Altar-Hands stood, moving to stand behind him, and the red-robed man moved in front of him once again.

“The Lightless Flame gives its burning love. The Lightless Flame gives its love, inside and out,” the man said, no longer projecting his voice out to the congregation, talking as if his words were meant for Martin alone. He undid a series of clasps down the front of his robe, opening it to reveal that he was naked underneath. Martin shouldn’t have been surprised by this. The man kneeled between Martin’s thighs, leaning in close to him and rubbing his hard cock against Martin’s belly. Martin looked over the man’s shoulder at the staring eyes of the congregation. They all watched him intently. Martin expected at least one to be reacting with horror or disgust, but there was none of that. Some of them even looked excited. He figured he probably wasn’t the first sacrament they’d witnessed, and he didn’t know whether that felt good or bad.

“Move his hands,” the red-robed man said quietly. “It can’t reach him like that.”

The Altar-Hands grabbed Martin’s arms, pulling them behind his back. Martin pulled against them in protest, but they were too strong. The red-robed man slid his hand down between Martin’s thighs, pushing a finger at his entrance. His flesh was horribly, unsettlingly warm. Not quite burning, but too close to burning for comfort. He pushed a finger into Martin, and the warmth suddenly within him felt horrid. The man curled and twisted his finger inside him, and he felt the warmth rise up through his belly, filling his entire body. It didn’t burn, apart from his thighs of course, but it felt like being cooked from the inside out. It made him feel exhausted. He felt himself leaning back into the arms of the Altar-Hands. This allowed the red-robed man to slide another finger into him, and the heat within Martin swelled. He was too hot. He should have been sweating, but he wasn’t.

The heat died down a bit when the red-robed man pulled his fingers out, but it returned powerfully when the man pushed his cock into him. The Altar-Hands gently lowered Martin onto his back, leaving him staring up at the ceiling. He felt his body being shoved back and forth as the man thrust in and out of him, and he couldn’t help but whimper as he was filled with that awful heat. He heard the singing of the congregation resume, and the man fucked him along with the pulse of the music. It was slow and deliberate, pulling out slowly and then pushing back in, hard. The volume of the singing swelled again, and along with it the heat within Martin’s body and the force of the thrusts increased as well. It got louder and louder, harder and harder, building to what Martin thought had to be the end before it faded back again. Even the more gentle periods were not pleasant. It went on for so long, he was sore and oversensitive and every movement of the man’s cock inside him made him cry out.

Suddenly, the singing hit a sharp crescendo, and the man came with a hard thrust. He brought his hand down upon Martin’s belly as he did, and Martin felt the strongest, most awful heat yet. The man held his hand on Martin’s belly, searing a handprint into his flesh. Martin screamed. The man kept his hand on Martin’s stomach even as he pulled out of him, pushing himself to his feet using Martin’s body for leverage. He quickly did up the clasps on his robe before turning to face his now silent congregation.

“The Lightless Flame has blessed this man with its loving warmth,” he declared. “Inside and out, he is marked by its love. He has received the sacrament, and thus shall be protected by its passionate heat.”

“The Lightless Flame burns bright within us all,” the congregation said in unison.

The Altar-Hands lifted Martin up, pulling him back into a sitting position. He still felt uncomfortably warm, and the burns on his thighs and stomach stung horribly. He watched the red-robed man walk over to the darkened area of the Church and return with one of the black robes.

“Put this on,” he demanded, holding it out towards Martin. “Wear it, and feel the protection of the Lightless Flame.”

Martin did as he was told. He had no choice. The clothes he came in were ash, and he had no desire to walk home naked.

“Thank you all very much for attending the sacrament,” the red-robed man said. “Especially you, Mr. Blackwood. I trust you’ll be joining us again next week?”

“I-I’ll mark my calendar,” Martin said.

Martin did not return to the Church of the Lightless Flame. He did not tell Gertrude or any of the other Archive staff about what had happened to him in the church that night. The burns healed eventually, but the one on his belly would always look like an ugly handprint and remind him of the church whenever he saw it. He’d never liked burns, but this experience certainly solidified them as his least favourite kind of pain.


End file.
